


bridgework

by pseudocitrus



Category: Tokyo Ghoul, Tokyo Ghoul:re
Genre: F/F, Food Sex, Mild Blood, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-13 23:16:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5720725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pseudocitrus/pseuds/pseudocitrus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>So much overcome and still things feel impossible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bridgework

So much overcome and still things feel impossible. Yoriko’s body shakes and in the haze of things it seems like a happy spasm, but then she draws back with a gasp. She smashes her hand against her mouth and when Touka asks to see it, Yoriko purses her lips, and then unfolds her fingers to show a palm whose creases are bright red.

Seeing it is like a stab in the gut. Touka loses her footing. The fall from the tightrope crushes the breath from her lungs.

“It’s okay,” Yoriko says, “it’s fine,” but Touka is saying, “No, no, no,” and then she spits Yoriko’s blood out, and refuses to open her mouth to say anything further.

She indulged and lost her thoughts for just a moment and something baser took over. Her desire is too strong, too deeply rooted. This is bad. This is dangerous. Years haven’t diverged them only to clap them together like this, like porcelain figures shattering on even the softest touches.

“I’ll come back,” Yoriko says, and Touka can’t bring herself to wrest the _Please don’t_ past her knotted throat. Then next evening comes with Yoriko, and a wicker basket with her bakery’s logo emblazoned on a ribbon.

Touka lets her in, and then says, “We shouldn’t.”

Yoriko smiles, with brows furrowed. “Really?”

How can she make this clear? “I don’t want to — hurt you,” she says. “To — eat you. Or something.”

“You won’t.”

“Yoriko,” Touka says, this time snapping, “will you please just —”

“Let me try this time,” Yoriko interrupts. “Okay? I want to try something.”

In the back room there’s a table, and Yoriko is removing things from the basket and arranging them around. It’s like their old lunches, but this time, things that Touka can only identify as “dessert-looking;” containers of fruits, pointy bags of creamy stuff.

“So you specialized,” Touka remarks, with a smile, and Yoriko smiles back and says, “Yeah. I decided that this would…be best.”

This small room. This beautiful woman. All of her pleadings for Yoriko to leave and still somehow they’re unraveling and peeling blouses, tights. Yoriko leans up with mouth open and Touka almost lets it happen, and only manages to turn away at the last moment. A stifled gasp emerges from her instead, as Yoriko’s lips rest on her throat. Touka’s fingers curl and uncurl on the table’s edge, hard and unharmable, Yoriko reaches behind her and undoes the clasp of her bra. She starts to kiss her again, and Touka leans back to avoid it, further and further, until her back is resting on the table. The food Yoriko set out is clattered and shoved aside.

Yoriko crawls on to follow, skirt hitching. Her legs part on either side of Touka’s waist. She’s set aside the bra and her hands are warm on Touka’s breasts, kneading, taking them whole in her hands and teasing them up with her fingertips, and it takes Touka a while to realize Yoriko is speaking.

“I…uhm…what?”

“I want to know what it feels like,” Yoriko repeats, in a whisper.

“What…what _what_ feels like?”

“Wanting,” Yoriko says. “To eat you. Stay still.”

Touka props herself on her elbows, heart skipping, with disbelief and morbid interest. Yoriko is pulling up one of the tube-things, snipping and screwing and posing a metal bit above her flesh.

Touka gasps as the icing hits, but the flux of goosebumps is quickly blanketed with fine white arches, overlapping, veiling her breasts like lace. It’s cold but Touka is shivering for other reasons, not the least Yoriko’s focused gaze. There’s a switch, and then there are rosettes on her too, and perfect tiny bows, and spirals that terminate in beads.

Decorated, like a cake in a window. Yoriko adorns her with tiny red-and-white strawberries, delicate slices of citrus, and kiwi, and when she finally straightens and surveys her work Touka feels strange. Strangely beautiful. Yoriko has always cherished food. S-so…the way Yoriko is looking at her now —

There have been people that have wanted to eat her before, but Touka had never felt her body rising up to meet them back. Her skin is warming and she begs it to stop before the intricate lines on her smear further, but Yoriko is bending down now, and her mouth is chasing up all the drippings, her tongue is smoothing shamelessly across sugar and skin. A cry sneaks out of Touka’s throat and her nails scrabble against the table as Yoriko sucks and swallows. Her tongue is hot and soft but beneath it Touka’s nipples only peak higher, and even when the icing is lapped away Yoriko continues licking, with a deep sigh, and a croon.

“I can see why it’s so tempting,” Yoriko says, softly, “you’re delicious,” and she licks her lips and Touka grabs and drags her until they are close, until their bellies smooth together. Touka’s fingers gather in Yoriko’s hair, and Touka kisses her, devouring as gently as possible the shiny sweetness of her saliva and her tender, tender mouth.


End file.
